


Broken Wings May Still Fly

by youlostpleiad



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amputee Riley, Background Clint/Bucky, Background Nat/Pre-Serum Steve, M/M, Sam Wilson has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20793656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youlostpleiad/pseuds/youlostpleiad
Summary: Sam and Riley lost a lot that day in the desert. The one thing no one could ever take away was their love for each other. So they hold onto it.





	Broken Wings May Still Fly

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Sam Wilson Birthday Bang! Thank you so much to the mods for putting this together! The road was long and hard and I will admit there were times when I didn't think this fic would ever be finished but it is even if a detour from the original draft was taken. But here we are! I'm super excited to post this and to have you all read it.  
Anyway, IT'S STILL SAMTEMBER AND EXCITED ABOUT IT!!!

_ Khalid Khandil. That's the mission. They have to fly in and get him, it sounds simple enough for two men who have been doing this for years. By now flying is their second nature. There's something about it, being up in the sky that makes them feel free. Riley says it's the view, you can see for miles and miles. Sam thinks it's because when you're up there and people look up you're a dot, no one can judge you, or push you into a box of their own making, up there you're free.  _

_ They're doing a great time, no more than ten minutes to go between them and the target and Riley keeps telling him over the comms, how this is the big mission, the one that's gonna get them home, maybe a medal. Sam lets him talk because he loves the happiness that sinks into Riley's voice. He loves it. They're always so stressed and tired and it shows, but up there they have dreams and hopes. _

_ Or Sam thought they did. Riley's telling him about how they're going to eat half the pizza in the country when they get back when they start being shot at. And it's not the first time, they've done this before, they know how to get out of the way, how to use their wings to stop bullets, but then something bigger blows up and he can hear Riley screaming and when he looks over, all he can see is smoke. He flies towards it anyway, Riley's still screaming. When he gets close enough he can see Riley falling, one of his wings is missing and his jet pack looks damaged. He doesn't think. He dives towards Riley and pushes the wings to full speed.  _

_ He gets close. Enough that he can almost grab Riley's hand.  _

_ But it's too late. _

-

Sam sits up in bed and his breath is caught in his throat. He feels like something is pressing into his ribcage hard enough that it burns, that the air struggles to get in and out. His heart is hammering in his chest and it hurts, it feels like fire. He's crying too. Always does when he dreams like that.

He hears something. Something faint over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. There's a hand carefully taking hold of his. He looks at his lap, he knows that hand. 

"Sam," he's speaking so softly. Sam uses all his strength to look up and find his face. Not bruised, not bleeding, not twisted in fear and pain, not screaming. He's concerned though, Sam can tell, "Breathe with me?" He asks. He doesn't reply, Sam just lets him take his hand and press it to his chest. He feels it rise and fall and tries his best to match it, tries to slow down his lungs and free them of the weight he feels.

It takes them a while. By the end of it Sam's breathing normally, his heart has slowed down and his tears are coming to a stop.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing out of his mouth. It's always the first thing out of his mouth. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for." 

"I woke you up," Sam's not meeting his eye, he's staring at his own lap and wringing his hands. 

He slides a hand onto the back of Sam's neck and lets his thumb rub some of the tension away, "what was it?"

Sam tries to take a deep breath and it comes out broken, his tears starting to pick up their pace again, "I couldn't catch you," he whispers, "I tried so hard, I swear I did, but it was useless." 

Riley cups his cheek, "Sam, look at me," he has to wait, Sam wipes some tears away and when he turns to Riley his eyes are still closed. He runs his thumb over Sam's cheek until he opens his eyes, "When it mattered? When I needed you too? You caught me. You caught me." 

It takes them a while to fall asleep that night. Riley's too worried and Sam's still trapped in his head, still holding onto Riley a little too hard like he's afraid to lose him, when he does fall asleep it's dreamless, his face pressed into the crook of Riley's neck, arms wrapped around him as hard as his sleeping body will let him. 

That's how they feel safe, wrapped in each other's too tight embrace. 

-

When morning comes Sam looks at the date on his phone. He’s tired, still upset about his dream. He wants to skip the VA meeting. Stay in bed all day and mope.

Then he thinks back to all the times he's woken up in the middle of the night to that crease in the middle of Riley's forehead knowing his nightmares put it there. He thinks about how he feels when Riley tries to skip his physical therapy or refuses to take off his prosthetic around people.

_ “I don’t want too.” _

_ “You reserve the right to make your own choices and I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to.” _

_ Riley rolls his eyes, “but?” _

_ “But,” Sam says with too much dramatic flair, “It is hot as balls, and you already had it on all day, you have work tomorrow and you will need to walk. Perhaps it would be in your best interest to remove your prosthetic instead of risking a sore leg.” _

_ Sam is making sense he knows he is. It isn’t even the first time they’ve had this conversation and usually, Riley agrees and takes the prosthetic off without much push back.  _

_ “Is it because we have people coming over today,” he says more than asks, taking Riley’s hand into his own. “They won’t care,” he says when Riley doesn’t reply. _

_ “I care,” he says. A little too harshly, but Sam can’t blame him, “They’ve never seen me when I can barely balance on one leg.” _

_ Sam pulls him into a hug, lets Riley press his face into the crook of his neck. He never knows exactly how to react when this happens, hates the part of his brain that’s yelling “this is your fault”.  _

_ “I still think you should take it off because of tomorrow,” he says not letting go of Riley, ignoring the noise in his head, “but I won’t make you. If you keep it on I’ll set the table and move around when it’s needed and you’ll sit and keep the weight off it.” _

_ “How do you know they won’t care?” Riley asks, his voice muffled against Sam’s skin. _

_ “Clint lost his hearing, Bucky lost an arm, Steve has a list of ailments longer than my legs, and you know I have nice long legs,” Riley huffs a laugh and Sam feels himself grow lighter, he allows a cautious smile to grow on his lips, “and Natasha is Natasha. She literally does not care. They won’t care, baby, I promise.” _

_ Riley waits a few seconds before speaking, “I can’t,” Sam’s chest feels heavy, “I’d rather be in pain tomorrow.” _

The memory is painful, so he starts getting ready. He lost a lot in the war. They both did. But he knows there’s one thing not even the war can take from them. Sam’s going because he loves him.

  
  


****

“Can I ask you a question?" 

Sam is starting a new job at the VA. Clint got him an interview since he works there training service dogs. It's nice, so far he’s mostly pushing papers. But it’s good, he's helping people and they're helping him. He listens to all these men and women talk about all the things that they feel guilty for and Sam knows that it's not on them. It's not and he thinks of Riley falling. Does every time and each time the guilt gnawing at him dwells a little. It's good for him, he thinks. Natasha works around the block running her own little Ballet Studio and the three of them meet regularly for coffee.

“What kind of question?” Natasha is looking at Sam over the rim of her mug, and he feels threatened. 

“Are you and bird boy 2.0 in need of some marital advice?” Clint asks resting his chin on his hands like he’s funny. 

“Not exactly,” and he’s not lying. No, they’re not having issues, they love each other and say so regularly, they have a healthy sex life, and by all accounts everything is fine. They just need to talk more. For all their shared experience there are things they just don’t talk about and sometimes Sam thinks that’s why he has nightmares. Because he had a terrible thought about himself, because he doubted his character and the goodness of his heart and didn’t talk about it. Didn’t tell Riley he sort of hates himself in those moments and didn’t talk about it and it messes with him and maybe that's why he goes to bed and his own mind haunts him. He thinks maybe that’s why Riley never takes off the prosthetic when he’s around anyone that isn’t Sam because they just don’t talk about it. Sam never even tells him he doesn’t care that he needs to use one, that it doesn’t make him any less beautiful, that Sam loves him just as brightly and deeply as he always has. They hardly ever talk about his leg because Riley closes up at the mere mention of it. He doesn’t know how to talk, they don't know how to talk, “How do you talk?” He asks not missing the confusion on Clint’s face and Natasha’s raised brow. “I mean with Bucky, with Steve. When things are shitty how do you talk.”

“Well, I’m Russian,” Natasha starts, “I take two shots of vodka and start talking before my brain can tell me it’s a bad idea.”

“And Steve?”

“Steve’s Irish,” she taps her chest, “He keeps all his emotions right here, and then one day he’ll die.”

“Thank you, John Mulaney,” Sam says with an eye roll, while Clint giggles, “That was so very helpful.”

“Steve is complicated, you know that,” she says with a small sad smile.“He’s been judged all his life and called weak because of his size and his dad was the type of man that mocked feelings. So he's not good with them. He puts up this front that makes it look like he can carry the whole world without breaking a sweat and it's believable. He’s come a long way from the guy that spoke with his fists or not at all, but he still doesn’t talk about his feelings unprompted.”

“So how do you do it?”

“I can tell when something is bothering him, I give him some space and if that doesn’t work I tell him the truth, that I know he’s hurting and that it hurts me. The one thing Steve can’t stand is too hurt people, and nothing hurts me like an upset Steve. I never force him to talk but I remind him that bottling things up hurts."

Sam is taken aback, Natasha isn’t exactly the person to come to mind when he thinks of tenderness, he doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Well, Natalia, that was sappy as shit,” Clint says knowing full well she hates to be called Natalia.

“Why thank you, Francis,” Sam can see Clint’s eye twitch at the use of his middle name and it makes him smile, “I do occasionally make use of my blood pumping muscle.”

"That's surprisingly helpful," Sam tells her, he thinks maybe he can let Riley know that he's his safe space, that they're each other's safe space. 

"Oh so you don't need my advice," Clint tells him with a forced hurt expression.

"That's not what I said, stop being jealous, Clinton." 

"Good because you do know-" he starts before Sam and Natasha take over and say in unison: 

"- that you and Bucky and the group's longest relationship and that means you're doing something right." 

"Yeah I'm doing Bucky right," he says before he bursts out laughing at his own joke. Sam chuckles. Natasha smiles softly despite her eye roll.

"The advice?" 

Clint laughs for a beat before stopping, "This about the leg?" He doesn't let Sam answer, "It's about the leg. Look Bucky didn't talk about the arm. In fact, for a long, long time he wouldn't take off the prosthetic if anyone but me was around him. He wore long-sleeved shirts and jackets even in summer so he could hide his hand inside his pocket and just look like some perpetually cold broody dude." 

"He wore it well," Natasha says.

"Damn right he did, that's my man," Clint takes a long sip of his coffee and looks somewhere over Sam's shoulder with that expression that definitely means he's imagining Bucky looking like a perpetually cold broody dude. Then he catches Sam looking at him and chokes lightly on the coffee, "right the advice. Look back then I just told Bucky it wasn't his arm I fell in love with, I probably made a joke about his right hand being better at handjobs anyway and I told him I loved him and that I was there. That I would always be there. When I got sent home because of my ears and he was still out there he'd send me letters, he waxed poetic about my eyes or my hands or my lips, just- about me, you know? He learned sign language, Sam, he just never got to use it much. He still needs a push sometimes so I just hug him and give him a kiss and tell him I'll be ready when he's ready and he does the same to me. With us, it was just- sure! We're fucked up but we're fucked up together."

And that- that doesn't sound hard. No, not at all, Sam can do that. They can do that.

"And you made fun of me for being sappy," Natasha says with teary eyes.

"Yeah well, it's not a competition, but Bucky and I are definitely winning." 

His friends are dumbasses Sam decides in the end. That's okay, he loves them.

***

When he gets home that day Sam finds Riley by the oven. It’s a common occurrence. He stress bakes. Sam’s actually impressed they’re both still in shape having in mind how much cake they eat. 

Riley sees him locking the door and smiles.

"So why are we stressed today?" Sam hangs his keychain on the hook by the door.

Riley laughs dryly, "Why are we stressed any other day?”

Sam’s heart squeezes in his chest, and because now is as good a time as any, he starts talking before he has a chance to let his brain catch up, “We need to talk.”

“Sam. No. Please, don’t.”

Sam catches the way Riley’s eyes widen, “No, not like that. I’m nervous,” he admits, “it came out wrong,” he walks over to Riley and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s just a peck, really, but Sam can feel the tension easing off him.

“Then what is it?”

Sam sees the fear in his eyes at whatever he’s about to hear so he almost doesn’t say it. But he can’t keep quiet about it. He takes Riley’s hand and kisses his knuckles, “We just need to talk more. We don’t talk enough,” he sees the crease in Riley’s forehead so he keeps talking. He tells him of all the days he can’t seem to do anything right, all the days he hears Riley wince when he takes off the prosthetic after wearing it for too long and thinks “if only you had been faster, if only you had been better”, tells him those days end with sleep tormenting him, taunting him.

“This is my fault,” is the first thing Riley tells him.

“No. No, it’s on us both,” Sam says, he steps closer to Riley and kisses his forehead, “I spoke to Clint and Nat,” he pulls him into his arms, “I asked for their advice on this talking thing since we both suck at it.”

“You asked Clint for advice? Clinton Francis Barton? Were you really that desperate for advice?”

“He’s smarter than he looks! That’s why we get him for game night, remember?”

“We team up with him on game night because we’re Falcons and he’s Hawkeye and Bucky thought ‘Team Bird’ was a hilarious name.”

“It’s kinda funny,” Sam says brushing his nose against Riley’s.

“No. Funny was that time we decided to start calling Steve ‘Captain America’ after he spent a whole week in an angry twitter debate over politics.”

“He did it again! Natasha told us about it today at lunch!”

“He didn’t.”

“He did. Except this time it was only a day and he actually fought with a congressman and not just a mere civilian so I think he gets extra points."

Riley grabs his face and tells him seriously, “Promise me we’ll move game night to tomorrow so we can tease him about it.”

“I promise,” he says and he kisses him. Short and sweet, but it’s all they need. 

"We're gonna be okay, right?" Riley asks after a while, the words muffled against Sam's shoulder.

"We're gonna be just fine, sweetheart."

They stand in the kitchen just resting in each other’s arms for the longest time until Riley starts talking, just like Sam did earlier.

That night they make love. Sam can’t bring himself to call it anything else, sex doesn’t feel like enough of a word, never did with Riley. They’re certainly not fucking, they haven’t in a while. They used to, but now every time is slow and loving an unsung chorus of “I almost lost you” of “I never want to know what it’s like to love only the memory of you”. Maybe, along the way, they lost the speed and the harshness of it, maybe now it’s never just instant and hard but they gained something from it too. Now it’s deeper, desperate in the best ways, every noise that leaves them a melody, an unsaid “I love you”, a “please don’t go”. In the end, that’s all they are, two men in love, afraid that life will pull them apart as it has threatened to before. 

Maybe they need to change. Let go of the fear a little bit. Start living again. Sam runs his fingers through Riley’s hair, listens to his even breathing while he sleeps on his chest. He thinks as he sinks into sleep himself, they really are gonna be just fine in the end. They have each other. 

Sam couldn’t ask for anything else.


End file.
